


Somebody That I Used to Know

by archdemonblood



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Evil Hawke, F/M, Fenbela flirting, Fix-It, Gen, major character death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archdemonblood/pseuds/archdemonblood
Summary: Isabela was given to the Arishok and Fenris was given back to Danarius. Isabela escaped from the Arishok, and several years after the end of DA2, she runs into Fenris in Minrathous and rescues him.





	Somebody That I Used to Know

Isabela had promised herself that she would never deliver to Minrathous again, but times were hard. She had escaped from the Arishok and returned that stupid relic to Castillon years ago, but that meant that he no longer wanted to kill her, not that he was ever going to help her. With no ship of her own, she’d had no choice but to join the crew of some scurvy seadog with the brains of a nug, keep her head down and work hard for six months, and then convince the crew to mutiny and make her their new captain. That had all worked out perfectly, but they were small fish in the smuggling game, and this job paid better than anything they’d been offered since Isabela had first stepped on deck.

The cargo wasn’t slaves. She’d checked. It was lyrium; boxes and boxes of lyrium, which of course they needed in Tevinter. It was _barely_ even illegal to smuggle lyrium in Tevinter. Isabela had more to fear from the carta than from the Tevinter authorities. She told herself to ignore the vague sick feeling in her gut, and to breathe. They were already here, anyway. 

She found herself scrutinizing the young elven men who came to collect the cargo. Were they slaves, or just servants? They looked well-fed. They talked to each other as they hoisted the boxes up onto largely-unscarred shoulders. The one who seemed to be in charged smiled at her and confidently signed for the cargo. Some of these elves couldn’t have been a day over fifteen, though... 

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her fault and there was nothing she could do. They paid the money and took the boxes and then they were gone, and all Isabela wanted was a stiff drink before they picked up anchor and headed for the comforting chaos of Llomerryn. Minrathous did have a few good taverns, supposedly. There was one not far from the Arcanist Hall that was famous. Or infamous. Whichever was the good one for taverns. 

Minrathous really didn’t look all that different from Cumberland; It was all old buildings and narrow streets and a giant important Circle and so much noise that you couldn’t hear anything. Of course, it was hotter in Minrathous, and accordingly the people wore fewer clothes, but Isabela didn’t mind that. There were more dwarves about too, but that also wasn’t a problem.

Isabela passed a large stone building with a steep marble staircase leading to the front door. It must have been a library, because nearly everyone coming out of it and many people going into it had a slave or servant behind them, carrying a pile of thick books. Isabela watched a group of young women in short silky robes bounce up the stairs, chatting about their necromancy exam. Their slaves stayed two steps behind them, struggling under the weight of their books. 

Pretty girls in short skirts in front of a pretty building... Minrathous should have been beautiful, but it wasn’t.

As she watched the girls go into the library, someone else came out. The Magister was no one that Isabela knew, though she could infer a great deal about him from his oversized staff, but behind him, not struggling at all under the weight of two bags full of books, was Fenris. 

Isabela didn’t even ask herself if it was someone else. Fenris was not a man that other men were easily mistaken for. His white hair was a little bit longer and pulled back into a neat undercut bun, showing off three lyrium dots which had seldom been visible in Kirkwall, and Fenris’ skin--the parts of it that weren’t stained with lyrium--was a bit darker than Isabela remembered, but no more so than the difference between rainy, freezing Kirkwall and sunny, blistering Minrathous accounted for. It was definitely Fenris. Those were Fenris’ big green eyes and Fenris’ intricate lyrium tattoos. 

Isabela wondered, for half a second, why Fenris would be here, in Minrathous, carrying the books of what appeared to be a mage, and then the answer hit her. _That son of a bitch!_

Isabela had almost convinced herself that she had deserved to be handed over to the Arishok. It wasn’t a knife in the back, but handing Isabela over had saved a lot of lives, and ultimately cost Isabela little more than three days of her time and what little remained of her ability to trust people. She didn’t forgive Hawke, but she could almost understand his thinking, in the same way that she had understood Castillon’s. Fenris, however... There was no logic in abandoning him. Fenris had never done anything wrong and he paid Hawke back tenfold for all the help Hawke gave him. 

It hit Isabela hard and right in the gut that Hawke had never cared, not about them, not about the people of Kirkwall, and not about anyone but himself.

“Fenris!” she called, and her voice cracked as she did it. 

He turned on cue at hearing his name, but when his eyes settled on her, there was no recognition in them. He squinted at her the way that tourists used to squint at the cards when Isabela’s mother told their fortunes. 

His master tapped him on the shoulder. “Come, pet. Ignore her.” 

Fenris looked away, and kept his eyes down on the mage’s feet as he followed the mage down the steps. Isabela took half a step toward them, and then froze. He was ignoring her, pretending he didn’t know her. There must have been a reason why he was doing that. She needed to follow them quietly and wait for an opportunity to speak with Fenris alone. Then she could get him out of here. 

The mage looked at her with cold blue eyes, and she turned on her heel and walked in the other direction. She went down the street about a block, until she came to a sidestreet even more narrow than the main road, which appeared to lead to a couple of shops and a restaurant. She went down it, past a bank and almost to the flower shop, and she stopped. 

_He’s going to catch you,_ Isabela told herself. _The Magister is going to catch you, and he’s going to kill you. This is the stupidest thing you’ve done since you brought the relic back to Hawke._

She turned around and she ran back toward the library, this time in stealth. She weaved through the crowd until she found Fenris and the Magister, and she followed them from a safe distance. The Magister, of course, did not live far from the beautiful, important district of the city. They walked less than half a mile before stopping at the white gate outside of a towering stone house, and walking up a well-maintained path toward the door. 

Isabela vaulted over the gate with ease and in perfect silence, and tiptoed behind Fenris until the Magister put his hand on his front doorknob. Then, he stopped. 

He turned and looked at Isabela. He smiled. 

Fenris’ tattoos flashed so suddenly and brightly that they blinded Isabela, and before she could blink her eyes back to normal, a shade had appeared. It grabbed Isabela by the throat and hoisted her off her feet. She kicked at its body, hoping to find something solid to shift the weight off her neck and get the air returning to her lungs, but her feet connected touched only air. 

The Magister smiled. “Look at her, Fenris.” 

And Fenris did. He looked up at Isabela and stared at her with no emotion. 

“Do you know who she is?” the Magister asked as Isabela flailed her hands and tried to hit the demon in what she guessed was its face.

“No,” Fenris said. He didn’t take his eyes off Isabela. If he was lying, then he’d improved his poker face considerably over the last four years. 

The Magister waved his hand, and the shade dropped Isabela to the ground. “And if I told you to kill her?” He sounded almost bored, and barely glanced at Fenris. 

Fenris set the bags of books down on the sidewalk and reached for his sword, but his master held up a hand and stopped him. “She’s hardly worth it, Fenris.” He looked at Isabela. “Mind your own business, southern bitch. I will not ask again.” 

Isabela’s head spun. _How could he not remember her?_ Unless... He didn’t remember anything? That could be it, couldn’t it? The Magister had deleted Fenris’ memories once before. He could have done it again...

Fenris picked the bags back up, and he and the Magister turned away and headed toward the house. 

She shouldn’t have cared. Never care. Caring will get you every time. 

She couldn’t just _watch him go_ , though. If he were a stranger, she’d say she’d done all she could and leave, but he wasn’t a stranger. She’d played Wicked Grace with him and flirted with him and helped him steal a mansion from his master, _this_ master. Isabela knew exactly what that Magister had done to Fenris, and what he would continue to do to Fenris if Isabela left. She had to try. 

And she was not entirely defenseless, should the worst happen. 

“Fenris, my name is Isabela and we met in Kirkwall,” Isabela said quickly. Fenris and the Magister turned around, and still there was no recognition in Fenris’ eyes. She kept talking, as quickly as she could: “You were running away from this man; you hated him. We were working with a man named Hawke and--” With a nod from the Magister, Fenris put his bags down again, and began to approach Isabela while drawing his sword. Isabela swallowed hard, but didn’t move from where she was on the sidewalk. “--and Hawke betrayed me and I think he betrayed you too!” 

Fenris froze, just for a second. If Isabela had blinked, she would have missed it, but for the first time, something that may have been recognition flashed across his face. It was gone a moment later, though, and he continued toward Isabela. 

“He gave me to the Arishok. I stole this relic, this tome of couscous--” 

“Koslun,” Fenris said. He looked at Isabela, and blinked slowly with those beautiful green eyes of his. 

“ _Fenris_.” The Magister hadn’t moved from his spot near the door, but he was watching all of this unfold intently. “Don’t talk to her. Kill her.” 

In three more steps, Fenris was going to be too close to fight off or escape from. If Isabela was going to run, she needed to do it now. 

If she ran, she couldn’t save him. If she stayed, she couldn’t save herself. 

She stayed where she was. “It was me and you and Hawke and Aveline and Varric and Merrill and Sebastian and Anders and Bethany--” 

Fenris’ face twitched slightly. 

“Right,” Isabela’s words were more breath than voice. “Bethany. You liked Bethany. She went on the Deep Roads expedition with you and Hawke and Varric, and she died there. You were really upset.” 

Fenris slowed, and his grip on his sword seemed unsteady. He was towering over Isabela now, and he raised his sword up to where he could swing it down and take her her head off her neck in one swing. 

He could kill her at any second. Isabela knew that. But she also knew that he could have killed her several seconds ago, and he hadn’t. He was moving slowly. He wasn’t disobeying his master yet, but he was stalling for time. He didn’t want to do this. Something inside of him knew her. Isabela had to believe that, because the alternative was accepting that she’d just committed suicide by proxy. 

“I know you, and I will tell you everything I can,” Isabela promised. “You don’t have to remember me. Just trust me.” She felt her hands shake as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her last flask of chameleon’s breath. She smashed it on the ground, obscuring them both, and she jumped to her feet. Through the smock, Fenris looked at her, and when she reached up and grabbed his wrist, he let her, and he followed her as she led him away from the house and over the gate. An impossible number of demons were following them before they got to the end of the block, but they didn’t have to out-fight them, they just had to outrun them. 

Isabela didn’t know Minrathous, but the sea was her one true love, and she could find it anywhere. As she led Fenris down the shady streets, trailed by demons, she was only half certain of where they were or where they were going, but she didn’t have time to stop and ask for directions, and Fenris wasn’t volunteering any. She _had_ told him to trust her. 

Eventually, they ran past a dwarven-owned blacksmithy that looked familiar, and two blocks later, they stopped, out of breath, but within sight of the water. 

“We’ve lost them,” Fenris said, “but I hope you have a plan. And a very good explanation.” 

“Why would I need a plan if we’ve lost them?” For the first time since Isabela had seen Fenris, it felt like a sunny day in a big city. “Danarius didn’t seem to want to chase us.” 

Fenris huffed. “Danarius didn’t chase us because he doesn’t _have_ to. He will have guards looking for us any minute now. Minrathous is an island, and no sane captain will take a runaway slave on board his ship.” 

“Pretty sure I’ve lost all claim to sanity,” Isabela said, breathing hard and leaning over a railing to support her shaking body. She didn’t want her men to see her like this. It was rare for her to be so shaken after what hadn’t even been a proper fight, but even a pirate didn’t come that close to being murdered by an old friend more than once or twice a year. 

“You’re a captain?” Fenris sounded so pleasantly surprised. 

Isabela sighed. “You really don’t remember me?” 

“No.” Fenris scrutinized her face for a few seconds. “But I do think I knew you, once. When I look at you, I feel...”

“Insatiable lust?” Isabela smirked.

Fenris ignored the comment. “...sad.” 

“Well, that’s a mood killer.” Isabela pushed herself upright and waved Fenris toward her ship. “Come on. We’d better get out of here before the guards come looking for us.” 

It was a simple matter to hide Fenris below deck. It was a slightly more complicated thing to round up all of her men and set sail when no one had expected to leave shore until the following morning. Still, even drunk and reeking of perfume, they managed. The harbormaster didn’t even give them much trouble, and the guards ignored her crew entirely. After all, she was just a lyrium smuggler. That was between her and the carta.

~*~

It was night. Fenris had found his sea legs, and only vomited twice. The Minrathous shoreline was out of sight and out of mind. Isabela was at the helm, staring out at the dark waters of the Nocen Sea.

Fenris appeared, and quietly sat down a few feet away. He stared at his own bare feet for several seconds before speaking: “Where are we going?” 

“Llomerryn.”

“Why?” There was no challenge in the way that Fenris spoke the question. He was probably wondering if the city held any particular significance for him. 

“No particular reason. Just... because we’re not going anywhere else.” Because once there had been two cities where Isabela ran when she got scared; now there was only one. “Because it’s easy to get lost there, and we’ll need to hide while we think up a plan.” 

Fenris nodded. “My master will come for me.” It wasn’t spoken like a question. 

“He did last time.” Isabela hadn’t thought her plan out quite that far. The Magister was going to come, and Isabela needed to be prepared for that. He was going to bring a small army of demons, and Isabela had... her wits, and Fenris’ magical fisting thing, and a crew of drunking louts, and one whole friend who was off killing Crows somewhere between Redcliffe and Seere. 

She would make it work. 

Fenris shook his head slowly. “I did not expect to be running away today.” 

Isabela shrugged. “It’s done now. Don’t look back.” 

“I’m not.” Fenris looked. “That’s the surprising thing. I actually thought I might miss him, if I ever left.” 

“You used to hate him.” 

Fenris glanced away and spent several seconds considering this. “I’m not there yet.” He looked back at Isabela almost shyly, as if he wanted her to assure him that that was okay. “Maybe someday.”

Isabela nodded. “It takes time.” She didn’t think about that period of her life much, these days. The scared girl in those memories didn’t even feel like Isabela. Naishe has been tossed overboard nearly two decades ago to make room for Isabela. “You’ll feel nothing, and then you’ll hate him _sometimes_ and then you’ll hate him all the time and then you’ll feel nothing again. You were just in the third stage when he found you.” 

“And now I am starting over.” 

The words hung there for a moment, clear as a bell over the background noise of the crew members fighting and singing. 

“I am not certain...” Fenris hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “...that I am the man you think I am.” 

“Well I am.” 

“I mean...” Fenris sighed. “I remember three years. The part of my life before that, the part that you belonged to, is gone. Even if I remember it, I don’t know that I’ll ever truly get it back. I am not certain I am the man you knew, or that I ever can be him again.” 

“Don’t worry. You are him. At least as much as I’m me.” Isabela took a deep breath. “I’m not sure that I can actually make you remember anything. And I know I don’t know as much as you’re going to wonder about.” 

Fenris chuckled bitterly. “Simply tell me what you do know and I will be grateful. No one else has ever made that offer.” 

Isabela looked at him and smiled, hoping that it would put him at ease. “Where would you like to start, sweet thing?”


End file.
